Page 154 of And Now, Back to You

“I can see that.” She gestures at the file folder that’s beneath my hands. “All right, Ms. Stewart. What do you have for me?”

I glance down at the file folder holding the evidence we compiled against Keith. Gianna and I practiced my talking points. The order in which I’d reveal all my facts. I know exactly what I’m supposed to say, but I flatten my palms against it instead, keeping it closed. I’m so tired of the scheming and the plotting. I’ve been twisting myself into knots for weeks trying to be a version of myself that’s damned near perfect to make up for all the mistakes I’ve made. But I don’t need to be perfect.

I’ve just got to try.

“Do you know why I wanted to be a meteorologist?”

Ava settles back in the busted-up chair that’s missing an arm, looking like a queen on her throne. “Why?”

I blow out a breath and summon my courage.

“When I was a kid, my grandpa used to turn on the weather report while I was getting ready for school. The five-day forecast was the soundtrack to every half-soggy bowl of cereal I had between the ages of five and eighteen. My whole day was shaped by those forecasts. What to wear. What to expect. But do you know what my favorite part was?”

Ava shakes her head, still with that unreadable look on her face. It’s easy to see how she became the head of a multimedia powerhouse. She radiates calm, competent energy.

I try to channel some of it.

“I loved that the reporter knew the city. He knew what streets were prone to flooding. He knew which neighborhoods had outdoor festivals and when they were. He knew the best tailgating spots, and when people would start lining up at the lots. He knew Baltimore, and he made sure the rest of us did too.”

I twist my fingers together. “All I’ve ever wanted to do is be a part of that, but Keith has made it impossible to do my job well. Last week I quit because I thought it was my only option, but I know my value.” Finally. I know my value. “You might look at me and think the way I behave on camera is silly or juvenile or—I don’t know—some sort of a gag. I know I’ve made my fair share of mistakes. But it makes our viewers feel like they’re a part of my community. Because they are. And I’m a part of theirs too.” I squeeze my hands together beneath the table. Gather my courage and try. “The real mistake I made was when I quit a week ago. This is where I deserve to be. I would like my job back. And I’d like for some changes to be made.”

Ava watches me with sharp, contemplative eyes. I try not to fidget, but the silence is unbearable.

Finally, she says, “I agree.”

“You do?”

Ava’s smile is faint, but there. “Was that not the whole point of your speech? To convince me?”

“It was, but—” I decide now is probably a great time to stop talking. “It was,” I say.

She nods, then leans forward with her elbows on the table. “Some things are starting to become clear,” she says wearily. Her pointer fingers taps against the back of her hand as she studies me. “I’m assuming that you were not the one who made the request to move to features?”

I shake my head. My heart feels like it’s about to flutter out of my chest, and not entirely in a good way. I’m not built to withstand high-stress situations.

“Keith has been my only line of communication into this news station for quite some time. I can see now that somewhere along the way, he began to shape the narrative to suit himself. I apologize for the oversight, Delilah. It won’t happen again.”

I’m almost afraid to ask, but I force myself to. I won’t come back to this office if things don’t change for me. It will hurt to walk away again, but at least I’ll do it with the knowledge that I’ve tried everything I could. “And Keith?”

“I believe Keith will find it’s time for him to retire.” She stands, smoothing down her skirt. I do the same, rising slowly. I can’t believe it was truly that easy. It’s both an incredible relief and unbearably frustrating. That I could have ended Keith’s reign of terror years ago, if only I was brave enough to stand up for myself. Ava collects her things. “I’ll give him the news before I leave, assuming he’s done with that man in the turtle suit.”

The words float around me like alphabet soup, arranging and rearranging.

“Turtle suit?”

This time there’s no mistaking Ava’s grin. “There’s a man in a turtle suit currently rambling his way through a weather report.” She grips the door handle and pulls, eyes sparkling. “It’s a very good distraction.”

JACKSON CLARK: Temperatures at this time of the year average between thirty-four and fifty-two. This morning, we saw temperatures around forty-two. That’s about eight degrees higher than the average low, which, of course you know. You can do math.

JACKSON CLARK: I mean. I hope you can do math. I hope you can do that sort of math.

[pause]

JACKSON CLARK: I’m trying really hard not to tell you about the history of the Fahrenheit temperature scale, but it’s difficult.

[pause]

JACKSON CLARK: All right, so the United States’ insistence to use the Fahrenheit model is deeply antiquated. It was useful in the eighteenth century, back before thermometers existed, but those exist now, so—